Sapphire Skies

by Belinda Alexandra

  But the two other Messerschmitts weren’t prepared to let me go. They turned and followed me. I could lure them low to the trees, but on this side of the front I was in danger of antiaircraft fire. If I was going to go down, better to do so in those remote fields I’d seen than in the middle of the German army.

  I turned and made another pass. I pressed my gun fire button but it clicked. I was out of ammunition and my fuel was too low to keep fighting. The Germans would realise that and catch me in the pincer manoeuvre they were so fond of and force me to land. I had one final trick up my sleeve. It had a high fatality rate, which was why only the most desperate used it. Those who survived were awarded the Order of the Red Banner.

  I approached one of the fighters from the side, shearing off part of its wing and piercing its fuselage with my propeller. The plane wobbled and went nose down, but I had ruined my chances of crash-landing. My Yak lurched. I pulled back on the control but it was like a piece of string in my hands. I had no choice but to bail out now.

  I tore off my mask and headphones and reached for the canopy. It was stuck and I struggled with it as my plane began to plummet. Finally I managed to rip the canopy open. Blinded by the rushing wind and battered and buffeted by the air around me, I struggled to lever myself against the cockpit rim. Suddenly I was sucked out. The plane fell away from me. I was sorry that I hadn’t been able to save it. It plunged into the forest with a loud rumble and a lightning flash.

  Then I remembered where I was and pulled the ring on my parachute. I clipped a tree on my way down and swung before hitting the ground at an awkward angle and briefly knocking myself out. When I came to, I saw the remaining German plane circling above. Had he seen me jump?

  I lay still until the plane departed then sat up. It was a miracle that I’d survived the jump apparently in one piece. I felt my arms and legs and everything seemed all right except for a sharp pain in my side. But when I tried to stand up, pain seared through my legs. I sat down again and yanked off my boots. My feet were swollen and purple. I had either broken them or torn ligaments. I ripped the bottom off my shirt and bound my feet tightly, then gingerly put my boots back on.

  I touched my belt and realised that I’d lost my pistol when I exited the plane. If the pilot had seen me he would alert the ground forces to my location. I prayed the partisans would reach me before the Germans did.

  There was a grove of trees nearby and then a forest across another field. I could hide in the grove for now and then move to the forest after nightfall.

  I hobbled towards the grove. Every step was agony. I hid myself in the undergrowth and picked my insignia and decorations off my uniform. If I was captured they would give away my identity. I folded my insignia inside my papers and buried them under the tree I was leaning against. Then I felt around my buttonhole and realised I’d also lost the brooch that Stalin had given me. I was glad to be rid of it now; it was a symbol of treachery. Not only was that monster responsible for Papa’s death, but he was to blame for my brother’s fate too. None of those metro volunteers would have been killed if Stalin had not set that impossible deadline. Without my rose-coloured glasses I saw everything clearly.

  When darkness fell, I made my way towards the forest. I stumbled, fell, crawled and got up again until I reached the trees. I held onto a trunk to spare my feet having to bear the weight of my body. In the distance I could hear bursts of machine-gun and artillery fire. The front was moving closer. Maybe I could hide myself until the Soviet Army recaptured the forest.

  Suddenly, I heard the hum of motor cycle engines and dropped down into the grass. A patrol of Germans passed right by me. The sight of them made my heart race. I had to go deeper into the forest. Each time I moved, I set myself the small goal of reaching the next tree; and at each rest stop I thought of something that gave me pleasure to help me regain my strength. I heard music and imagined dancing with Valentin; I saw myself reading Tolstoy to Svetlana; I pictured Mama arranging flowers in her apartment, with Dasha asleep on a pillow beside her; I thought of delicious pelmeni, sweet-smelling flowers, pretty dresses and perfume.

  Finally, in too much pain to move any more, I curled up against the base of a pine tree and stared at the starry sky. I was aware of every rustle and animal sound in the undergrowth around me. It was summer and the bears, lynxes and wolves would be active. But I wasn’t as afraid of them as I was of the Germans. Predatory animals killed when they were hungry or to protect their young. They didn’t kill their own kind en masse in an orgy of greed and evil. And I recalled Ludmila’s words: If either of you is ever in danger of being captured, you must shoot yourself rather than be taken prisoner by those monsters.

  I tried to stay awake but fell asleep sometime before dawn. I dreamed that a figure stepped out of the early morning mist and put a pistol to my head. I woke with a start but there was no one there. The forest was devoid of human sounds, but the woodpeckers and quails were busy looking for food. I watched the sky brighten. When I tried to stand, I stumbled and fell. The pain in my feet and side was worse, but I couldn’t stay in the forest. I had to find help.

  Somewhere nearby I heard the trickle of a stream. I crawled on my hands and knees towards the sound. When I found the water, I plunged my hands in and cried with relief. I drank great scoops of it, then, gritting my teeth, I removed my boots and soaked my swollen feet. Half an hour later I began moving again, using the method I had tried the day before — tree to tree, rock to rock.

  Later, I saw Junkers tear across the sky accompanied by fighters. It was hard to believe that only a day ago I had been in a plane going out to meet them. I thought about my Yak, buried somewhere in the forest. Would anyone find it? If I died here would anyone find me?

  Eventually I became feverish and could walk no further. I burrowed into the undergrowth, hoping that an hour or so of sleep might give me the strength to move again. I woke a short while later, all my senses alert. Two rabbits were running through the undergrowth. I heard footsteps … human footsteps. I thought I was dreaming again but then two figures appeared from the trees. One of them saw me and gave a cry. I thought I was finished but then I heard a woman’s voice.

  ‘Natasha!’

  Svetlana! Was this real or was my fever making me hallucinate? I tried to stand but collapsed. I looked up and saw Svetlana standing above me. Behind her was a young boy, maybe ten years old.

  Svetlana threw her arms around me. ‘I knew I would find you!’

  ‘How did you?’ I asked her, still unable to believe she was really there. ‘Have we taken Orël?’

  Svetlana shook her head. ‘No, not yet. I crossed the frontline in the dark and avoided the enemy. The partisans helped me locate where you went down. They sent this boy to help me find you. He knows the forest well.’ She glanced at my feet. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘I injured my feet when I jumped,’ I told her. ‘I can’t stand on them for long.’

  Svetlana turned to the boy. ‘Help me carry her.’

  The boy grabbed my legs while Svetlana slipped her hands under my arms. But when they lifted me it felt as if my ribs were coming apart and I couldn’t breathe. I cried out with pain and they placed me on the ground again.

  ‘We won’t make any progress that way,’ Svetlana said. ‘You’re too badly hurt. We’re close to a road and village here and we’ll be noticed unless we move quickly.’ She turned to the boy. ‘Can you get help? Is there anyone in the village you trust?’

  The boy’s eyes darted from Svetlana to me as if he were sizing us up. He was gaunt and nervous, not at all like a boy that age should be. I was sorry that life had made him that way.

  ‘I’ll get help,’ he told Svetlana. ‘You wait here with her.’ And he disappeared into the forest again.

  ‘Who is he?’ I asked Svetlana.

  ‘An orphan who lives with the partisans. They had to blow up a bridge to stop the Germans getting supplies, so they sent the boy with me. He’s wild but he apparently knows every inch of this forest.’
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  ‘Can we trust him?’

  It felt like a harsh question to ask about a child. But this was war. You had to be careful of everyone.

  ‘The partisans use him as a guide,’ Svetlana replied. ‘So I’m sure we can.’ She kneeled behind me and rested my head in her lap. ‘Natasha, will you ever forgive me?’

  I reached up and touched her face. ‘I’m sorry I became so angry. None of it was your fault. None of it! It was Stalin who signed my father’s execution order. It was he who betrayed Papa. Perhaps your mother’s accusations didn’t help, but Stalin could have easily rejected them.’

  Svetlana removed my leather flying helmet, which I hadn’t realised I was still wearing, and placed it on the ground beside her. She stroked my throbbing forehead. ‘You would have been proud of me, Natasha. Sharavin didn’t expect me to persevere. But I made it past the frontline. I pushed any dark thoughts from my head, as you’ve always told me to do. I kept repeating, “Natasha is alive and I will find her.”’

  I smiled at her. ‘I’ve always been proud of you, Sveta.’

  She leaned over to pick some bilberries from a nearby bush and fed them to me one by one. ‘Valentin has been searching for you. Perhaps the partisans will be able to get a message to him somehow.’

  She stopped and looked around her. I had heard it too: something in the distance. I sat bolt upright despite the pain in my ribs. Engines. I could smell exhaust fumes. Svetlana had said we were near a road but we must have been closer than I’d realised. Then the sound of trucks was replaced by voices. They were shouting orders. Dogs barked. Had the boy alerted the whole village? Did they have to make such a racket? Then I heard the voices more distinctly: they were speaking in German. My blood turned cold.

  I looked around. I couldn’t escape, but Svetlana could still run. Then I realised the voices were coming from all directions. We were surrounded. Had the boy alerted the wrong person in the village by mistake? Or had he deliberately double-crossed us in return for some advantage?

  I turned to Svetlana. There was terror in her eyes. I knew what she was thinking. To be captured by the Germans and abused at their hands wasn’t a future we could endure. We knew the only course we had now.

  Svetlana swallowed then took the pistol from her belt. ‘I used three of the bullets to scare off a wild boar,’ she said. ‘There must be three left.’ She handed the gun to me. ‘I’ll never be able to do it, and I can’t watch you die,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Please … me first and then … you.’

  I choked back tears. How could I destroy my dearest friend? But what other choice did we have? We knew what awaited us at the hands of the Germans and in a few minutes the choice would be taken from us. I grabbed the gun from Svetlana.

  She fumbled in her pocket, then handed me the identification capsule that I’d given her before my last flight. ‘So if our comrades ever find us, they will know who we are,’ she said.

  I slipped the capsule into my pocket. Using the tree for support, I raised myself to my feet. ‘Please turn around,’ I told her. I couldn’t shoot her if she faced me.

  There were only three bullets in the gun. The worst thing would be to botch the job and not kill her cleanly. I pointed the barrel at the back of Svetlana’s head, then hesitated, unsure of my decision.

  ‘I love you,’ I said.

  ‘I love you too,’ she replied.

  The voices and barks grew louder. I saw German soldiers coming through the trees. One shouted out: he’d spotted me. They started running towards us.

  ‘Now, Natasha,’ Svetlana pleaded. ‘Please, now. I am ready.’

  My heart pounded in my chest. An image of Svetlana and me running home from school flashed through my mind. ‘God forgive us,’ I said, tormented by the unspeakable act I was about to commit. I pulled the trigger. The shot rang out and sent a flock of grouse into flight. Svetlana slumped forward. Her body quivered for a moment then stopped.

  Now she was gone, I longed to follow her. I lifted the pistol to my temple and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. I pulled it again. Nothing. The next thing I felt was a blow from a fist to my head, which sent me sprawling to the ground.

  The world went black.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Moscow, 2000

  Tears poured from Lily’s eyes. Natasha had killed Svetlana out of love, not retribution. Lily understood the strength that would have taken. In Adam’s final days, as he lay bathed in sweat and weeping, she had sat alone with a pillow scrunched in her hands, wondering if she was strong enough to hold it over his face and end the suffering that was not alleviated by the measured doses of morphine his nurses administered. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. When he fell into a coma and faded away, Lily realised she’d been spared crossing a line from which there was no return.

  ‘I had accused Svetlana of betraying me,’ said Natasha, ‘but she had a pure soul. Svetlana believed that I would stay alive if she imagined it so. She even trusted me with her death. It was I who betrayed her.’

  ‘You killed her out of mercy,’ said Oksana.

  Natasha squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I didn’t follow her in the end.’

  ‘But you couldn’t have,’ said Lily. ‘Your gun jammed.’

  Natasha grimaced and lifted her hand to her chest. ‘After that … I could have found a way. Svetlana could not have lived without me. She loved me too much. But I chose to live without her.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself for that,’ said Oksana, pouring a glass of water from a jug on the bedside table. ‘It’s the human instinct.’ She held the glass to Natasha’s lips and helped her take a sip.

  Lily waited until Natasha seemed ready to continue before asking, ‘What happened after the Germans captured you?’

  The old woman stared at the ceiling. ‘Perhaps my consolation is that I spared Svetlana from the nightmare that was to come. She couldn’t have endured it.’

  I regained consciousness on the floor of a storage bunker. The air was hot and reeked of sacking and gunpowder. It was dim in the room and everything was hazy. My head throbbed and so did my ribs and my feet. My neck was stiff but I managed to lift my head to look for Svetlana. Then I remembered what had happened. My throat thickened and I thought I was suffocating.

  A German guard was standing near the door. When he saw that I was coming to, he called to another guard outside. I heard the words ‘die Mechanikerin’. Then he turned back to me and shouted in Russian, ‘Stand up!’

  The command brought me to my senses. My heart skipped a beat but I couldn’t move.

  ‘Stand up!’ the guard shouted again, jabbing my hip with the end of his gun.

  I brought my legs under me and slowly straightened myself up.

  ‘Die Mechanikerin,’ the guard repeated to the man outside and I realised he was talking about me. Why did he think I was a mechanic and not a pilot?

  The guard outside shouted something and the one next to me pointed his gun at me again and jerked his head. My feet were still too painful to bear my full weight and I stumbled when I tried to walk. The guard grabbed my arm to support me and led me out the door and onto an airfield. Every step was torture and bile rose in my throat. Pilots, mechanics and armourers all turned their heads to look at me. To find myself on an enemy airfield, surrounded by German airmen and their ground crew sent chills through me. Some of the men seemed curious while others glared at me. But among those stares were a few that conveyed pity and that surprised me.

  The command bunker was underground. A map of the front took up an entire wall. Near it, an operator was listening to Soviet radio transmissions. My ears picked up the crackled voices of the Russian pilots. The call signs weren’t those of my regiment but the sound of fellow fighters heading into battle made me realise how far away I was from Valentin now. I may never see him again, I thought. My captors were probably planning to interrogate me and then shoot me — or worse.

  There was a man sitting at a desk writing on some papers; I assumed he was the comma
nder. He looked up when the guard announced me and I recognised him. It was the Black Diamond. He was as handsome up close as he had been at a distance, only now I could see that his trousers were crumpled and his chiselled face was darkened by stubble. He pointed to a chair and said something to the guard in German. The guard dropped me into the chair and left.

  The Black Diamond stared at me for a long time, then picked up the identification capsule from his desk and played with it in his hand.

  ‘We both know that you are not the mechanic,’ he said in educated Russian. He had a strong, theatrical voice and only the slight touch of an accent.

  I glanced at the capsule and understood what had caused the mix-up. In the panic of being surrounded, Svetlana had given me hers by mistake. Because I had taken the insignia off my uniform, apart from the capsule, there had been no way to identify me.

  The Black Diamond pursed his lips. ‘I think it’s best that you keep that cover. We have orders that all Soviet female combatants be shot on capture. Field Marshal von Kluge despises the idea of Russian women killing German men.’

  I stiffened. It was typical German arrogance. They expected Russian women to stand by while they slaughtered our families. As disgusted as I was, I refrained from responding in case the Black Diamond was trying to trick me into giving him information.